The Kissing Traditions of a Thief and a Queen
by lunarism
Summary: Saf comes back. A oneshot featuring drunk!Teddy, butterflies, a sea shanty, and lots and lots of kissing. Bitterblue/Saf.


**A/N: **Ugh, these books will be the death of me.

* * *

**The Kissing Traditions of a Thief and a Queen**

The queen sits high above the city, barely treading water amidst a sea of papers. The sunlight melts into a golden pink, streaming through her windows and casting a blush on the documents. These days, the papers mean something. These days, they tell her truths and ask of her assistance, stones in the wall of the castle that Bitterblue is building up from the razed ruins of the past. But that doesn't mean they aren't dead boring sometimes.

Bitterblue rises from behind to desk, discovering that she is alone and wondering how long it's been that way. Like ants carrying crumbs twice their size, her advisors and clerks work so hard to help her. She's glad that sometimes, breaking from the reverie of her work, she finds them gone home to husbands or wives or lovers or friends. It's nice to know that it doesn't all have to be such a struggle.

Resting her elbows on the windowsill, she looks out over the rooftops, the rechristened River Silver gleaming as it cuts a swath through the city. Tonight is the equinox, and the orange sun is setting the horizon on fire. Her whole city is painted in the vibrant shadows of sunset, looking for all things like a glorious explosion of all the happy things she's ever felt. She pretends there isn't a lump in her throat for the cause of a good majority of those happy things. His stupid freckles and his stupid eyes and his stupid dreams are in The Dells and he probably doesn't even think about her at all. So what. She doesn't care. She's Queen Bitterblue of Monsea.

But not tonight. Tonight she's going to be Sparks, and with god as her witness she is going to kiss so many people that she won't even remember Saf's name.

She quietly pads down the stairs of her tower and takes the winding route to her rooms, trailing her fingers along the places where the light shines through onto the stone walls. She slips past the serving girls preparing her dinner, warily watching for Helda. Struggling to undo the lacings on the back of her dress, Bitterblue finds herself contorting into all sorts of strange positions to get the damn thing off, cursing under breath.

"Bitterblue, language like that really isn't necessary, dear," Helda says. Bitterblue jumps, and then looks sheepish at being caught.

"Don't look like that. Like I didn't know you would be going out tonight," the old woman scoffs, "What do you take me for?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Next time just ask for my help, before you break yourself trying to take that dress off."

Her able hands quickly loosen the bodice of the dress, and she helps Bitterblue step out of the tangle of skirts and ribbons court attire requires. Reaching into her mother's chest, where she's taken to storing the evidence of Sparks, she pulls on a pair of trousers, a hooded blue cloak, and a pair of boots. These clothes feel like home, and it's been far too long since she wore them.

"Be careful out there!" Helda warns. Bitterblue smiles and gives the woman a hug.

"Thank you, Helda."

"Well, it's a right sight better to know when you're going to disappear. And no one's trying to kill you and your friends anymore, either, so I have no obligation to keep you in the castle these days."

A bubbling happiness fills Bitterblue at how much things have changed in a year. The freedom to do what she wants and be who she wants is a marvel. And she intends to make full use of it. Giving Helda a quick kiss on the cheek, Bitterblue says, "I'll be back at some point," and has to resist the urge to skip down the corridors and into the settling night.

The sun has finally fallen below the horizon, and in the twilight, Bitterblue gasps at the wonderful chaos before her. Beyond the palace gates, revelry fills every alleyway and boulevard. People with painted faces play fiddles and sing. The skirts of city girls twirl in the streets as they dance. And everywhere, lips meet lips in celebration of the equinox. She feels like she's come home.

As she follows the familiar route to the east city, she is kissed consecutively by a man with a long grey beard, a girl of about seven, the girl's mother, and a Monsean Guard still in uniform. Her feet carry her to the swing of the music blossoming through the cracks in the walls, sneaking through the spaces between the bricks of the alleys. She looks up, and sees in the fading light that all the shutters are both painted _and _repaired. She smiles.

Not long ago, this celebration was a secret, in cellars and back rooms and out of sight. But today, well, today this celebration was anything but a secret. Like the shutters, like the cemeteries, the past was emerging from the fog and weaving itself into the future.

Arriving at the printing shop, she slips through the open door and adjusts her hood, not in the mood to be a queen tonight. Almost immediately, Teddy catches a glimpse of her blue cloak and spins her into a hug.

"Sparks!" and he kisses her on the lips.

"Hello, Teddy," Bitterblue replies cheerfully.

"Here, have some paint," he says, and swirls blue sparkles across her face.

"Wh – Teddy, what are you doing?!"

"You can't be a part of the party unless you have face paint," he says stubbornly.

"But – "

"Shhh, no objections."

"You're drunk."

"I am artist," he says, still painting her face with his fingertips.

"You're definitely drunk."

"And now you're a butterfly!"

Bitterblue turns to catch a glimpse of herself in the window, and is startled to see that Teddy is right. An iridescent blue butterfly covers her face, wingtips curling up above her eyes and across her cheeks. "Thank you, Teddy," she says, kissing him again.

She kisses Tilda and Bren, too, then makes her way through the crowded shop, into the even more crowded back room. Everyone is dancing and singing along to an old Monsean sea shanty. Bitterblue picks up the chorus after a few listens, and joins in the song.

_When I die, over the sea foam  
Bury me, in the soil of my home.  
But I have life still left in my bones  
Kiss me, don't let me sing alone._

Bitterblue spins in the crowd, laughing as her hood tumbles around her shoulders. She decides not to care.

"But I have life still left in my bones," and she feels an arm wrap around her waist.

"Kiss me," and she's staring into brilliant purple eyes.

"Don't let me sing alone," and they aren't singing anymore because their lips are otherwise engaged. Hands on her waist, he doesn't let her go until he is thoroughly finished kissing her, which takes rather a while but that is perfectly alright with her.

"You seem to have a habit of misunderstanding the etiquette of this holiday," she mumbles against Saf's lips.

"Shut up, Sparks, I know exactly what I'm doing."

He doesn't stop kissing her as he draws her out from the centre of the crowd, and he doesn't stop kissing her as they make their way to an inconspicuous back corner, and he only stops kissing her when she's trapped between him and the wall, thoroughly sure her knees have turned into butter.

"I missed you, Lady Queen," he jokes.

"I missed you too, Saf," she breathes. "What where the Dells like?"

"Incredible. But they don't have any holidays where you can kiss people, so…"

"Well, it's a good thing you're back, then."

"Yeah, it is."

And they both continue to misunderstand the etiquette of the holiday until Teddy comes over to tell them to stop. They both glare.

"Hopeless," Teddy mutters as he walks away.

Bitterblue is inclined to agree. Hopeless and complicated and glittering brilliantly as the city bells ring midnight and his graceling eyes meet hers.

"He's right," Saf says.

"I know," she sighs.

He grins, "Well, I'd rather be hopeless than be nothing at all."

Bitterblue is inclined to agree with that, too. This time, she kisses him, and realises that among everything else he's stolen, her heart can be added to the inventory.


End file.
